


Silver & Gold

by serenililly



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Angst, Athlete Jeon Jungkook, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Second Person, Post-Break Up, Reader-Insert, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 06:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18162638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenililly/pseuds/serenililly
Summary: Jungkook promised he wouldn’t be there when you came to collect your things from his apartment. Jungkook was never very good at keeping promises.





	Silver & Gold

The door looked like any other apartment door, metal numbers starting to fade, the bright silver bleeding into a worn-away bronze. Not that you would have usually noticed, but you were having trouble moving past the apartment’s threshold today. After leaving two weeks ago, you hadn’t had the courage to come back. But you needed your things. You needed this final separation of him and you.

Another deep breath and you stepped inside. His favorite training shoes sat just inside the doorway and an ice-cold grip clutched your heart. After countless sob-filled calls and way too many shouting matches over the phone, he promised you he would be gone today so you could come and pack in peace.

“Jungkook?” you called out. The place was already a mess. Take out boxes stacked on the coffee table. Empty bottles of soju left about like intruding figurines in every corner. You walked over to the wall just next to the couch where a definitely brand new hole had been punched into the drywall.

Trash wasn’t the only thing littered about the apartment. Pictures were everywhere, some smashed in their frames on the floor, some torn to pieces, and some still hanging on the walls. Pictures from when you were both happy and in love.

“Y/N,” said a breathless voice. Jungkook came out of the bedroom, dressed in only his boxers. He clearly hadn’t shaved since you left and you were certain he hadn’t left the apartment once either.

He came barreling at you, wrapping you in his arms and your stomach lurched. You wanted it. You wanted it so badly, to forget everything, forgive him, and fall into his chest.

“Please don’t do this,” you pleaded. “You promised me you would be gone. I have to pack.”

“Stay, please. We belong together, Y/N.”

“No, Jungkook,” you said coldly. “We’re over. Let me go.”

“Why are you doing this to us? Please don’t do this,” he begged, his voice a soft whine.

“I’m not going to apologize for this,” you said. “Not anymore. I’m doing what’s best for us. You need to work on yourself and find the will to be better than what’s in those bottles so you can get your career back. And, if you’re damn lucky, have a shot at the Olympics again one day.”

He was quiet for a moment and you hoped that something you said had finally gotten through. “You’re not going to apologize for tearing our lives apart?” he asked, proving you were wrong.

You rounded on him, more than angry. “ _ I _ didn’t tear us apart, Jungkook, you did! You and those fucking bottles that you can’t ever put down! Alcoholics don’t win gold medals!”

He let you go and took a step back. “That’s really what this is about, isn’t it?” he sniffled. “You only wanted to be with me when I was a winner and now that I’m a loser, you can’t stand the sight of me.”

You raised your fist, ready to cause him as much pain as physically possible, but he caught it in his hands as you brought it down.

“How dare you!” you shouted, voice wavering as your emotions gathered in your throat. “How fucking dare you say that to me when I have stuck by you through...through...ev..everyth-” The tears were already there, the burning tears that you had been crying all week while you lay curled in a ball on your parent’s couch.

“I’m not doing this,” you sniffled, ripping your hand from his and wiping your wet face with your sleeve. “I’m not crying for you anymore.”

“Y/N...”

“ I can’t be here to pick up the pieces for you anymore. Get out and let me pack.”

“Y/N-”

“GET OUT!” You picked up the item closest to you and threw it as hard as you could onto the floor. A framed photo of you both at training camp just a year ago, faces now all smiles and broken glass.


End file.
